


call me no matter where you are

by hannibalsketches



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marvin Gaye - Freeform, Mentions of PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam attends T'Challa's coronation, Stucky - Freeform, T'Cham - Freeform, scarlet vision - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsketches/pseuds/hannibalsketches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds Wakanda beautiful, but soon learns that's not the only beauty to be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	call me no matter where you are

 

Sam couldn't think of words to describe how beautiful Wakanda was in person.  Sure, Steve had gushed about it on the helicarrier out of the maximum prison (though Sam thinks that had more to do with the fact that Wakanda was a safe haven for them all) but seeing it below his feet in it's vastness was something else entirely. The jungle was dense, and seemed to stretch on for miles. The air was a perfect balance between hot and cool. Hell, even the pesky mosquitoes that buzzed around them dazzled in the sunlight, their bodies a multitude of colors unlike those back in America. Sam didn't think it could get better.   
  
He's proven wrong.   
  
T'Challa takes Steve, Wanda and Sam on a tour of the country of sorts. They eat the local treat,  _ umngqusho _ , make clay bowls, and even browse the shopping district. The king even buys them all traditional jewelry as a peace offering for his behavior. Sam laughs at the bead necklace, sporting an illustration of a bird, readying for take off. It was a fun time, but fun is replaced by urgency, whispers of a celebration and a memorial being held at the same time.   
  
T'Challa's coronation was long overdue, after all.   
  
As the last rays of light are snuffed out, replaced instead by burning flame, Sam can feel his back stiffen. There weren't any government officials from America, but a surprising number of suits were seen in the crowd. Being in the cell, even for a short time, was enough to put and keep Sam on edge at all times. Wanda and Steve had opted to stay in the palace, a smart decision based on the stares he was getting. But T'Challa had wanted him to come, so he came.   
  
Luckily, once the ceremony had started, all eyes were on the podium.   
  
First was the memorial. Growing up, Sam had only been given glimpses of his heritage on tv, but being there was truly an out of body experience. There were tears, of course, but the Wakandan people mostly rejoiced at their leaders passage into the afterlife. It's a nice contrast to Peggy's funeral weeks before. With their King being properly honored, it was time to bring in a new reign. The atmosphere changes in a flash. Children sing with wide smiles, and African dancers make Sam's heart race. Finally, he catches a glimpse of his friend turned king, and in that glance, his mouth goes dry.   
  
T'Challa emerges, clad in traditional Wakandan clothing. A coat of beige frames his torso, his neck is adorned with a collar of colorful beads, and his smile is just as beaming from his back seat.   
  
Many people speak about him, and priests touch his head and pray. The whole affair is moving in ways Sam can't express.   
  
At the climax of it all, he is presented with a beautiful panther skin. T'Challa wraps it around himself carefully, and Sam wonders how long it has been in the family. The black of the fur is so intense, yet gleaming in the firelight as it is folded and placed with care. The last piece, the panther's head, is partially stuffed. The fangs sit over T'Challa's brow, the eyes bore a powerful gaze into everyone in the room. The King of Wakanda turns, and the room falls silent. Sam audibly gulps because damn. He was skeptical at first, but seeing T'Challa like this, there was no doubt in Sam's mind. Royalty was in his blood. At once, the crowd erupts into cheers and chants. The place goes absolutely ballistic. T'Challa makes his exit, being patted and congratulated by everyone within reaching distance. Sam's never seen him smile so wide. He chases to catch up to him, and is swept into a celebration outside.   
  
It's anything but calm. People dance around open flame and beat drums wildly, chanting and screaming with glee. Citizens beckon and call Sam to dance, and he indulges, keeping an eye out for the seemingly lost King. He knew his way back to the palace well enough that he wasn't worried. He turns his attention to being fully immersed in the culture.   
  
~   
  
After dancing with two young girls and a particularly spry old woman, Sam finds himself spun around to another dancer. He doesn't think much of twirling about, stomping his feet to the beat until the stranger speaks.   
  
"I am happy to see you're enjoying my culture, Samuel."   
  
Sam freezes, and looks up into the eyes of T'Challa himself. He was wearing the beaded collar from earlier, as well as the cloth pants, but nothing else. Sam gapes openly, able to see that he had been dancing for a while due to his brow glistening with sweat. He's got a ridiculous grin on his ridiculous face, and bursts into hearty laughter at Sam's loss for words. Sam himself had shed his light top two dances ago, but wasn't near as developed as the king. He really didn't know how to respond, and probably looked and sounded like an idiot blubbering about. He's saved by the music starting up again.   
  
T'Challa turns to him, a wicked little grin on his face. "Shall we?"   
  
Sam doesn't trust his tongue, so nods his approval. They immerse themselves in the thicket of the dancing. The king turns towards him and smiles before losing himself in the pulsing rhythm. Sam's even more flabbergasted, if that's even possible. The man could move so gracefully, curve and twist and press his feet in perfect alignment to the beat. Sam, schooled earlier in the proper way to dance, attempts to match him. He's sure he's worse than a three year old, but if T'Challa notices he doesn't say anything, only smiles wider.   
  
The celebration goes well into the late evening, but Sam's sad when it ends. He doesn't remember a time he was so happy, so content with his decisions and where he is in life. He's lead back to the palace by T'Challa and although his feet were throbbing, he enjoyed how beautiful the country was in the moonlight.   
  
"Did you have a nice time?"   
  
Sam turns to face his new found friend. His stomach jerks at the sight, the panther king is hit by the light of the moon in such delicate ways. Sam doesn't think he's ever seen a person so ethereal, like a god among men. He should probably account for all the  inappropriate thoughts he's had tonight, but that could wait until he was in a cool bed, sated and drifting into a dream. Right now, he has a deity waiting for him to speak.   
  
"It was...unreal. I've never experienced anything like it. Thank you." He knows he's smiling a bit too much, but can't seem to shake it.   
  
T'Challa mimics him, teeth glinting brightly in the dusk.   
  
"You are welcome."   
  
They reach the palace, the large windows now immeasurably empty, The metal roof reflects the stars, no one is awake. T'Challa turns to him, in his foreign beauty, and grins again.   
  
"You'll have to show me your own culture, Sam."   
  
"Of course." Sam nods, already making a list of things he could show him while still in Wakanda.   
  
He waves goodnight, and heads to his bedroom.   
  
It's the best sleep Sam's had since getting back in the air.   
  
_________________________________   
  
Over the next few days, Sam begins assembling what he can to show T'Challa his favorite things about America. One Amazon order and a subscription to both Netflix and Spotify later, he's finally ready. He heads to the gym, where he knows the Wakandan King is having his daily work out.

  
Sam's surprised to see Steve there as well, sparring with T'Challa and losing pretty badly. He waits patiently for them to stop, and if he lingers on the king's taut form...well, that's no ones business but his own. He understands more clearly now why the Black Panther was his code name. The guy was so smooth with his movements, striking with a deadly force every time his fist hit something. Yet, Sam noticed, his feet were delicate, shapely and perfectly able to bounce him around the room. He’s taken back to that celebration, and remembers the same holding true when T’Challa danced. 

Finally, T’Challa lands a pretty rough blow to Steve’s abdomen, and the super soilder calls it quits. The king laughs.Sam moves into the room now, setting down his gym bag and beginning to stretch. T’Challa speaks, his voice booming in the tiny space.

“I thought they made you indestructible, Captain.”

“Give me a few days, and I’ll hand you your ass on a silver platter.”

“Ooh, language man.” Sam chides, smiling when Steve’s face screws up. He starts to stretch beside Sam, groaning a bit every time a bone would pop. He gets up to leave, clapping Sam on the shoulder as he heads towards the showers. 

“I’m gonna go check on Bucky.” Sam smiles at that. Sure, visiting your loved one in a cryogenic chamber wasn’t his idea of a good time, but Steve finally had Bucky safe, and that was something, wasn’t it?

Steve gestures to T’Challa, now downing a bottle of water in one gulp. “Don’t get too rough with him.” 

The asshole practically wiggles his eyebrows, and Sam has to keep from blushing. Of course he had told Steve and Wanda about that magical night, but Steve was a cruel man. He shoves Steve, only to make the man laugh wildly.

“As long as I don’t catch you making out with the glass.” 

That shuts him up, thankfully. Steve gives a saucy little wink before walking away, leaving Sam alone in a room with a sweaty, seriously buff King of Wakanda. 

He doesn’t dare look over his shoulder, instead focuses on working out the soreness in his calf.

Suddenly, a large, warm hand is covering his own.

“There is a simpler way to do this, Samuel. You need a partner to hold your leg.”

Sam’s breath nearly stops as he looks into T’Challa’s eyes, brown and burning with their intensity. He nods, and the king steps into position. He starts putting his weight on Sam’s leg, stretching the limb out. 

Sam’s not about to make himself look like an idiot again. He speaks calmly, even though his heart is racing.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

T’Challa, the bastard, smiles slightly, humming his interest. His eyes are hazy, but still manage to pierce through Sam’s.

“You ever try Sweet Baby Ray’s Barbeque Sauce?”

T’Challa stops his actions. Sam’s foot falls to the ground with a thud. The king’s _ snickering _ .

“What on earth is a ‘Sweet Baby Ray’?”

It sounds ridiculous in his accent, and Sam can’t help but burst into laughter.

“Man, it's a brand name! Sweet Baby Rays? It’s the best sauce in the world!”

“In the world? This must be an American thing.”

Sam nods. “I have some. You gotta try it. Right now.”

“But what about your work out?”

“Forget the workout. You need to have some!” 

He grows bold, grabbing the King’s arm and tugging him to the kitchen. Once there, Sam rummages until he finds the overly large bottle he had ordered three days prior. He puts it on the counter and starts looking for spoons. T’Challa, intrigued, picks up the bottle. 

“‘The Sauce is the Boss’?” He reads. It takes every ounce of Sam’s willpower not to snicker at the pure confusion on the king’s face. He looks, well, adorable.

“Yeah. Here.” Sam reaches for the bottle, squirting out a bit for T’Challa to taste. The man looks skeptical at first, scrunching his brow, sniffing the spoon, and finally putting it in his mouth. He contemplates the taste, sets the utensil down, and looks at Sam.

“Well?”

“It’s very good, Samuel.” He flashes a pearly white smile and Sam is content. 

~

Later that night, he manages to convince T’Challa to watch both  _ Rush Hour _ and  _ Men in Black _ with him. He laughs at Chris Tucker’s jokes, but the king is quick to chastise the technology the MiB has.Sam is glad to share some of his favorites, but seems to focus more on T’Challa than the movies themselves. He smiles at every quip, answers every question, and hopes that not only was the Wakandan king getting to know the culture better, but Sam as well.

He keeps this up, showing T’Challa movies and tv shows when he can, and introducing him to American food whenever they get a spare moment. He even plays music during their workouts. Everything is amazing. There’s something about the king that wakes up something in Sam that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Of course, amazing can’t last forever.

It all starts during one of those workouts. He’s pumping serious iron when the song comes on, and he doesn’t comprehend its _ that  _ song until Marvin Gaye calls out.

_ Listen baby _

Sam freezes on the spot. Suddenly, he’s taken back to the night before Bahkmala, his second tour. Riley’s dancing like a fool across their room, laughing and maybe just a bit too drunk. His dirty blonde hair is a mess, and he’s singing horribly.

_ Ain’t no mountain high, ain't no valley low _

Riley comes up to him, tugs his hands around his neck, and kisses Sam lightly. He whispers into Sam’s ear.

“This is always gonna be our song, Sam.”

He joins in to the next verse. 

_ If you need me call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far _

Sam drops the dumbbells.

He closes his eyes, wills the dream away. He can’t lose it, not here. He can’t fuck this up with an episode. He was doing so good.

Sam barely registers T’Challa’s alarmed call, and looks up at him. He’s wavering between Riley’s happy booze grin and T’Challa’s frown. He reminds himself to think of the exercises he taught back in VA. Right. Riley was dead. T’Challa wasn’t. 

He tries bringing himself back to reality, but the song isn’t really helping. T’Challa asks him something he can’t hear, so he calls out.

“Turn that off.”

T’Challa does, and Sam feels instant relief. He kneels down, scrubs at his eyes, slowly tearing the memory of Riley from his vision. Once he is free, he looks up to see T’Challa, now inches above him with the same face he wore when riding in that cop car.

“Are you alright, Sam?” 

Sam knows it wasn’t just the song's fault. He listened to it a lot, in memory of Riley, and had no qualms. This dance he was doing with T’Challa was part of it too. It was the same thing he had done when he first met Riley, after all. At first, he hadn’t thought about it, but the proof was all there. Riley had showed him his northern ways, and Sam his southern roots. That was how Sam had fallen in love with him.

“Sam!” It’s another voice this time, Steve. The super soilder was grabbing his shoulder, a look of understanding on his face. He knew.

“I’m alright.” Sam’s not alright. His pulse is thumping with the sudden flashback and revelation. His knees are shaky, and his palms clammy. Steve heaves him up, and escorts him to his room, leaving a very concerned Black Panther behind.

~

Once safe in his bed, Sam’s a lot more grounded. Steve gets him some water from the bathroom.

“Was that what I think it was?” Steve’s a lot more calm that Sam expects him to be, but then again, Sam had done the same every time they had a close call with finding Bucky. He nods.

“I saw Riley.” Steve nods in acknowledgement. 

“What triggered it?”

“Marvin Gaye, of all things.”

A calm silence surrounds them. Sam breaks it with a sigh. He puts his head in his hands and groans.

“Steve, I think I’m falling for T’Challa.”

“Well that’s one hell of a revelation.”

“Tell me about it.” Sam flops back on his bed. 

“Look Sam,” Sam peeks out from under his hands to see his friend dead-pan serious. Sam drops his hands.

“The past few weeks have been utter hell for all of us. Don’t beat yourself up over having an episode. As for the business with T’Challa, well...you know better than anyone I’m the last person that should be giving you relationship advice.”

He laughs a little at that, and it's enough for Steve. The man leaves the room.

Sam glances out of his windows, into the dense foliage of Wakanda and drifts off to sleep.

~

He wakes up from his impromptu nap in two hours. His mind is still foggy, but Sam knows he has to talk to T’Challa. He heads downstairs, finding Wanda in the kitchen making lunch. She smiles, gesturing him over. He obliges.

“How was your nap?” 

Sam gives a sleepy thumbs-up. “Just what the doctor ordered.” Her eyes tell him she knows what happened, but she doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. 

“Great. Do you want soup?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, not yet. Seen T’Challa?”

Her eyebrows rise a bit, but her voice stays the same. “I think he’s in his study. Is there something wrong?”

“I just...really need to speak to him.”

“Well go on, then.” Wanda smiles bright, and Sam considers her for a minute. Of course she had jumped at the chance to stay in Wakanda and do right by her wrongs, but she was first and foremost a kid. Sam would actually break if he had to endure what she did, yet here she was, bubbly and happy and making soup. He knew it partially had to do with the Vision, who she had grown particularly close to. Maybe, if T’Challa liked him back, he could have the same refuge. 

Sam climbs off the barstool, and heads upstairs, and right into T’Challa’s study.

The king shoots up once he sees Sam in the doorway, a nervous expectant grin twisting his features.

“Are you okay?” His tone is very loud, demanding but obviously concerned. Sam doesn’t know what to think that.

“Yeah, no worries. Sorry you had to see that.” 

A pregnant pause follows. T’Challa moves a bit closer, Sam shifts his stance.

“Did…..did I do anything?”

Sam considers this. Of course the answer was no, he hadn’t triggered Sam’s PTSD, but he had made Sam fall for him, the dunce. His stupidly beautiful face is sad again.

“No, of course not. I’ve just been through alot in the past week, and I guess it was bound to happen.”

T’Challa nods. “Sam, we both have. I want to thank you for the times we’ve shared together over these days. I’ll cherish them forever.”

Sam gulps. It was fight or flight time, and Sam already flew as his job. He takes a deep breath and begins to tell him about Riley.

He tells him the whole story, only cries once, and T’Challa listens to all of it. At the end, the king smiles softly. 

“He sounded wonderful.”

“He was.” Sam smiles back, thankful to have that weight off his shoulders. He reaches in his pocket, pressing play on his phone. A cheery guitar intro cuts through the silence. Those same words fill the air.

_ Listen baby _

T’Challa shows concern, but the music doesn’t trigger Sam again. He slowly raises his hands and places them around the king's neck, just as Riley did all those years ago. 

Sam kisses T’Challa with all the raw passion he can muster. The song plays on, and Sam thinks he’s found a new meaning in it.

_ If you need me call me no matter where you are _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first T'Cham fic. I did a lot of research too. Since they used Xhosa language for the Wakandan language in the film, I found a lot of inspiration for the coronation ceremony, memorial, and celebration scenes from traditional Xhosa customs. Also, if you look in a certain scene during Winter Solider, Sam has Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce on the top of his fridge. 
> 
> If i got anything wrong with the culture in this, please let me know!
> 
> Drop me a review and kudos to let me know how i did!


End file.
